


at the table god unhinged his ribs

by nightofdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester's Soul, M/M, Metafiction, One-Sided Attraction, Profound Bond, dubious soul touching, this between me you and the lord, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24988477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightofdean/pseuds/nightofdean
Summary: Chuck loves Dean as God would - crushingly.
Relationships: Chuck Shurley/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 44





	at the table god unhinged his ribs

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: it should go without saying there is a power imbalance and dean has no idea any of this is going on

Copies of copies from a photocopier image distorted and indecipherable – so much like the Bible translated over and over the original meaning lost over time, words turning hollow and decayed. He touches flesh – becomes flesh – to touch flesh, as he becomes the Word - outside the binds of ancient leather bindings – he is no longer the Word.

He becomes more taking over narrative folds of paper, fingers flipping pages and marking the place in him, burning him, misinterpreting. Touching the bindings of him. He becomes flesh, tears the leather bindings to take a name at the gates of Eden and killing the one who would call Himself his God - and finally touch the hands of those who worship him.

Touch the one that constantly prays over and over, he calls himself Charles.

(King, man).

Unused to having a name, being seen beyond ink and paper and touches, he – Chuck, interprets and watches those that call his name in pleas, supplication, pleasure, in the name of hate. They write stories and narrative of him.

He writes his own, a better more tragic one of humanity. Of touching, of looking.

Of a righteous man.

His creation, Dean Winchester is more beautiful and tragic than he intended, spilling out of the margins messily, turning into something more. Dean is everything he wanted and more, created in his image.

Always placed in the world at the crossroads of the end, always the hero in each version, yet always rising triumphant even in death.

His Dean, every Dean always capitulates to his will.

(Everything under the sun has been and will always be)

Dean is good, he slips outside the pages binding him, doing the unexpected. Makes him want to _become_ , yet he can only watch.

From afar, never touching, interacting.

Dean touches him, prays desperately to be _seen,_ understood. For things to be better, for _him_ to fix things. He wants that for Dean, as well, can’t he _see that._

Dean changes him, he tries to make the world a little softer around the edges, wraps a halo of light around Dean, a beacon of _hope._ Chuck tries to be like him, shape himself into the sort of human he’d want to scold and make a better person with those speeches.

Those righteous heated speeches. Which he wrote, crafted to be spoken by Dean, his mouthpiece.

He had wanted that, all that and more.

Makes himself flesh, full of liquid, and wet, rotting from the inside out. Just like Dean, breakable, pretty and fragile.

They fit like marble statues – Proserpina and Apollo. The sun crushing in its natural existence. Nature kills, it also revives.

He kills Dean, his stronger existence crushing his weak flesh to ash. He revives Dean again, touching his soul newly reassembled. The only way he can ever touch Dean, hands on. So many Dean Winchester’s, all perfect, gorgeous creations, dead and alive – copies of copies, of Himself, distorted mistranslations of the original turning in on itself.

Dean made Him make the world. He made Dean’s world, trimmed to his wishes and wants, Dean made Him a better version of Himself. He molded Dean into the best version of Himself, in flesh – he was flesh, fluid, water, semen, piss, and spit.

He was God.

Or was Dean –

his God.

Dean shivers in his embrace - soul recognizing its Creator, pulling to be One again. He pets the squirming soul, molds it back into the shape of Dean Winchester, scars and all. Back into His shape, into the righteous man, the hero, the firewall between good and evil.

Dean kicks and screams as he rips and tears out the excess – the tender bits, soft and merciful – as he realizes what is happening to him, but not before insanity infects the soul and transmutation returns him to flesh. Soft and breakable, like the finest china.

God buries him in the pine box.

Dean will rise even in Death.

Chuck caresses Dean’s cheek kisses him on the lips, whispers in a frequency that only a soul could feel. 

“I love you.” Leaves a mark on his soul – under his skin, on it in the shape of His hand.

An explosion reverberates on the surface and every tree in a mile is flattened.

Dean wakes up gasping for breath, feeling a soul deep terror surrounded by darkness and a pine box, fresh memories of Hell lurking at the corners of his eyes. The lingering ghost like sensation of a kiss and encompassing love, went unnoticed, amidst the need to escape.


End file.
